In Sleep of Death What Dreams May Come
by Stilwater Rundeepo
Summary: Bill Sykes' final thoughts before his suicide. Inspired by the BBC adaptation and includes some minor headcanons. Rated for implications and lots of angst!Sykes. (Title is from Shakespeare's "Hamlet".)


I was not always this way. I did not have to be.

I could have been a good person. I could have been someone people wanted to shake hands with and say "good evening" to and buy a drink for on the holidays. Someone who children did not run away from, who did not give them nightmares in their sleep when they had misbehaved. Someone who a woman would want to clean a house for and raise children with, and choose to stay with out of true devotion. Not malice. Not fear. Not bondage.

I could have made my fortune through honesty. Not lies. Not scandals. Not thievery and intimidation and murder. I could have been rich in the eyes of God and the rest of the world. I could have had mornings where I looked in the mirror and saw clothes I had earned through my sweat, years of experience I had earned through my laughter and tears, and the grace giving me life from God in Heaven.

I could have had a name that made people bow their heads with respect or brighten their faces with anticipation. Not a name that made people hide in corners and cover themselves with terror.

I could have been a man who knew how to love his woman.

I could have had it all and more.

But I didn't.

It was you who took it all. You robbed me of the life that could have been and traded it for _this_.

You gave me a mother I never saw. A mother who exploited her physical attraction and skills of stimulation to make a living. A mother who would have had gotten rid of me before I had a name if she had had but a few cents more in her savings. A mother who left me for dead. You gave me a brute of a father who despised children and knew not the meaning of an honest life. A father who taught me to hide in corners and cover myself with terror. A father who taught me that men were made to intimidate and women were made to be intimidated. That men were made to kill each other like animals because they are no better than the creatures they kill for food and sport.

You threw me into the darkest slimes of society. You cast me into the pit wherein I was forced to discard my love, my honesty, and my morals so that I would survive.

You were the one who made me learn to despise the life I could have had.

You were the one who bred my hatred of high society, my disdain for women and for children, and my fondness of the blood of a lesser man on my hands and the taste of cold alcohol against my throat.

It is because of you that I could never have a life worth living.

I could have been a man worthy of grace and you took it away from me.

I could have looked Death in the eye with the peace of knowing I had done my duty, I would be remembered with words of honor, and I knew I would be kneeling before my Maker when I awoke.

But I didn't.

Death leans towards me with a smile, with a strange sort of pleasure. Its gaze is cold but its embrace inviting. As if it has wanting to take me away for a long time. As if it has been waiting since my day of birth for the moment it can drag me down to where I have always belonged.

I look at Death as if I am looking into a mirror.

I murdered her. Why did I murder her? She was mine. Mine. All I had. She is calling out to me beyond the grave. She keeps asking me. She knows what I did. She knows who I am. I know I murdered her. I know, for the first time, that it was wrong. I wonder if I ever did love her at all. I wish I could say I did, but I can't know for sure.

In my reflection in a pool of water, I can see Death and its bloody knuckles, its lifeless gaze.

I'm going to escape. I'm going to forget it all. I'm going end it all right here and now.

Oh, Life, oh Giver of Life, you took it all.

It did not have to be this way, but you decided that what could have been was not meant to be. It was a storm I could not weather and a dream I would never know.

Why did you make me this way? Why was it all so...violent?


End file.
